


A Broken Hand Of Cards

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman Begins (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joker's back in Arkham, again, but this time, Joker asks something of Batman. And the idea of therapeutic isolation becomes tempting. Very tempting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Egde

The night had a sick air to it and the entire city knew why. Joker was at it again, only, this time, he didn’t just want the Bat to go after him, he wanted a full-blown chase. The Jester seemed restless lately, not even giving warning or threats out to the city or Batman. At random intervals of the day, even striking past dusk, he’d do something. Whether it was major or not seemed to be dependent on his mood.

At times he did nothing more than a petty thieving, something the G.C.P.D could handle easily. Other times weren't so lucky. And it seemed like he did the worst after dusk and right before dawn, the times when Batman, or better said, Bruce Wayne was trying to sleep off the day beforehand. And naturally, since it was Joker, it was Batman's job to take care of.

So,  Bruce grudgingly got up from his comfy, inviting bed, and trudged, muttering curses towards Joker under his breath, to the Batcave. Once there, Bruce re-dressed himself in his suit, before sleepily entering the Tumbler, starting it, and taking off into the waking Gotham.

But Gotham wanted to continue to sleep, normally the sun would be rising at this time, yet, it was hidden behind a curtain of grey storm clouds, and the threatening, beginning of smog. And the smog was layering over the streets, in a dense, sick grey, just waiting for its next victim, but that was Batman’s sleep deprived thought warning him of upcoming danger.

Indeed, it was a danger, something that Bruce was all too well acquainted with. It was stupid of him to go out without proper sleep, but Gotham needed him, and he is damned if he wasn’t going to do something.

  


Joker had taken residence next to the current school he was threatening to blow up. His legs swinging above the ground, police down below, Jim Gordon had called for the Bat, as Joker had requested. Jim had refused at first, but when Joker waved the detonator around, as a laugh leaves his lips, Gordon did as he was told.

Bruce, getting out of his upgraded car, gave a quick nod to Jim, too tired to do anything more than necessary. Using his grappling gun, he jumped onto the roof of the building, next to Joker, his voice laced with annoyance. Bruce wanted to sleep and Joker’s outbreaks are keeping him from that goal.

“Don’t you sleep?” He grumbled, his voice lower than natural. He wasn’t in the mood to be his broody self and Joker noticed.

“Don’t have a bed, Bats.” His painted face split into an amused grin, showing off his sharpened teeth. _He’s been biting again._ Bruce noted to himself, it’s a habit he’s been trying to rid his counterpart of for ages now. But what really unsettled Bruce, was the sincerity of his statement.

“Really?” He questioned before he could stop himself. Joker chuckled, shaking his head no before he gave a sing-song reply.

“Aw, Bat, you care.” He placed his free hand on his chest like he was surprised, overly dramatically so. Bruce didn’t have enough self-restraint to stop himself from rolling his eyes; so he did, shaking his head slightly afterwards. “You do!” Joker sounded genuinely surprised,at his sudden realization.

 _Bloody idiot._ Bruce muttered to himself silently.

“Well, since you seem to be in a bad mood, how ‘bout we go our separate ways and call it a day?” Joker hummed.

 _God, yes, please._ “No, not until you’re back in Arkham,” Bruce growled. He wasn’t in the mood, he wanted to sleep, and Joker was slowing irritating him; as shown by his clenching jaw.

Joker just huffed, before continuing to hum the silent rhythm, only the Clown knew. He sat for a few moments, just humming before he brought the detonator up to his eyes.

“Ah, how about a little fun, Batsy?” He questioned, his thumb tracing over the edge of the red button. Bruce instinctively reached out and gripped Joker’s arm, the one with the detonator in hand.

“Don’t.” He merely said. Joker’s emerald orbs looked up at forget-me-not blue eyes of Bruce. His lower, covered in red, lip pressed out slightly, in a small pout.

“But, Batsy.” Joker whined, pulled out of Bruce’s grasp, his other hand reaching up to rub the now bruised area. He didn’t wince, but his actions we’re making the burnt skin worse.

“Joker.” Bruce warned, taking a step forward his shadow covering the male.

  


The sun was winning the fight against the darkened clouds, a few rays of the warm sunlight peeking out from behind, shining against Bruce’s back, making his shadow even longer.  He shoots a glare from under his cowl, trying to tell the Joker to back off, without words.

Joker didn’t get the hint, instead, he gave a giggle, before quickly hitting the red button.

“No!” Bruce called, reaching out to grab the hand that pressed the damn button.

  


And for three agonizing seconds nothing, absolutely nothing but silence rang in Bruce’s ears; and for two of the three second he thought that Joker was bluffing, but then the loud ring of an explosion hit his ears, like a sledgehammer. _The school was gone and so was anyone inside._ Bruce closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat, but then he realized something. _That explosion was too small._

So, redundantly Bruce opened his eyes, before looking over at the fire. As his eyes latched onto a small, empty car in the parking lot of the school, it was thrown backwards, upside down, and engulfed in flames; he also heard hysterical laughter.

Joker was laughing, it wasn’t a mocking laugh, but a genuinely amused laughter.

“You should have seen your face!” He breathed out between fits of laughter. Bruce, or more correctly, Batman growled. A deeply irritated growl, left his lips, before his hands gripped onto Joker’s shoulders, them bouncing with every giggle. His fingers dug into the bony skin, making Joker silence, and look at him. “Oh come on Bats, it was nothing more than a method to get to you.” He grinned, his face looking even more sinister.

Batman glared, before turning the male, taking out a zip tie. He bound Joker’s wrist, before wrapping an arm around his waist. Jumping down, next to the police, his cape stopping his plummet, Joker was then shoved into the hands of a police officer.

  


It’s been a week since then, both Arkham and Joker have been silent, asking nothing from Batman, which, to Bruce’s liking, allowed him some much-needed rest. Alfred made him his favorites and excellent tea. They sat in complete silence and it was nice.

  


Until the 10th day without incident caused Bruce to worry. Joker’s broken out of Arkham in 24 hours before, and on Batman’s nightly watch, there hasn’t been anything either. It’s like all of Gotham’s most dangerous disappeared in the blink of an eye.

 _He’s planning something._ Bruce thought. _Something big._ And as Batman grappled to another building, nearby, the cable snapped with the loud sound of a gunshot. And Batman, came falling to the ground unprepared. Landing on his back, he groaned, but the swing of a baseball bat against his temple silenced him, knocking him unconscious.

  


When he awoke he was bound to a chair, an overhead light casting blinding light upon his, thankfully still masked face. Looking around his eyes had to adjust to the darkened room around him. His breath was taken from him when a scarecrow mask appeared very quickly in front of him. The wearer of said mask, craned their neck to look at Batman; their ice blue eyes being the only thing about the face that could be seen.

“Crane.” Batman growled. Jonathan Crane, a former Doctor at Arkham. With a click of his tongue Scarecrow picked up a syringe, inside was a green looking liquid.

“Where am I?” Batman question, somewhat glad that no one else had captured him, as he knew Crane was willing to talk to him.

“Arkham.” Scarecrow responded, flicking the syringe, before sterilizing it.

“Why am I here?” Batman asked, watching the needle as Crane walked around the room, grabbing objects off the counters, before gathering them, then washing his hands.

“The Clown requested that I bring you in.” Crane responded, pulling off his mask. Bruce has seen Scarecrow's face before, his glasses and blue eyes reminding him of Clark Kent. Shaking his head he retorted.

“Since when did you start taking orders from Joker?” Crane glared at Bruce, stalking up to him, before forcefully pulling his head, leaving his neck exposed.

“I don’t take orders from that madman.” He responded, wiping a disinfectant and sterilizer across Bruce’s neck. His gloved hands poked and prodded at his neck for a moment, before finding a suitable vein. “Don’t worry this won’t kill or hurt you.” Crane reassured, before plunging the needle into the area he picked. “I’m doing this because Joker knows I’m still using my “unconventional” means as a doctor and Arkham is willing to take me back. This is to get my job back and keep that maniac silent.”

Bruce’s hands clenched around the chair he was contained in. He hissed in pain, as Crane injected the liquid, before pulling the needle out and cleaning the bleeding area.

“All this is, is a concentrated version of my fear gas, it’s meant to give you hallucinations at random intervals. As I am to question you, I needed an _edge_ , to make sure you cooperated.” Crane smiled softly, watching as Batman’s blue eyes became foggy, it would stay in his system for three hours before needing another injection.

Bruce watched as Scarecrow put his mask back on and he looked odd with the rest of his outfit, only with a lab coat on underneath. However, Scarecrow still had his scythe with him, as Bruce noticed when Crane picked it up from a corner in the room. Leaning against the handle of the weapon, Bruce realized that he was in for a long night. It was only 8 when he left as Batman.

“What time is it?” Batman asked with a sigh.

Crane looked down at a wristwatch on his left arm. “9:30,” Crane responded nonlocality.


	2. No Makeup No Grin

Soon getting bored just sitting and waiting for the drug to take effect, Crane decided to hook Batman up to a heart monitor, to make noticing the change easier on him. Bruce sat silently as he did, he didn’t try to fight; it’d be dumb of him to do so, as he didn’t know how long the drug has held over his senses.   
To Bruce’s pleasure, it took 30 minutes for the first effect of the drug to take hold. At first, there was nothing, but then the room began to become white, and the only thing Bruce could see was Scarecrow. And that didn’t help. The beeping on the heart monitor spead up, Crane taking note, before waltzing up to Batman.   
The mask on Scarecrow’s face began to distort, parts of it falling off revealing maggot infested, rotting skin. The stitched mouth, slowly curls into a Cheshire grin, even creepier than Joker’s.   
“Batman.” It growls in a deep, dark voice. “The first question.” Bruce nods, his breathing shaky and the beeps of his heart, echoed like war drums in his head. “Who’s behind the mask?” Crane asks, his voice in reality calm and collected, reading from a list given to him by the Joker, yet Batman hears a snapping demand.   
Bruce shook his head. Even if he was intimidated he would never tell, never. Gotham needs him. With a sigh, Crane responds to Batman’s reaction.  
“Doctor-patient confidentiality, I will not tell, the Clown on the other hand.” Bruce heard none of this, however, what he heard was more along the lines of, “Tell me Batboy. I can promise not to tell a soul, as long as you do as I say.” It was a growling voice, distorted and faded, like a scratched record.   
As Bruce was about to refuse, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his family. Alfred, Dick, Jason, and Barbara, all on the verge of death; alive but hovering on the edge of a pin point.   
He knew it was the drugs in his system, but the more he looked at them all, the more it was real.   
The visions flashed across his eyes, so many scenarios all leading to death, each one playing out in his head.   
“Tell me they’re safe, then I’ll tell you.” Bruce negotiated, the images all too real.  
“Who?” The voice laughed.  
“My family.”  
“They're safe, all of them, I promise.” The voice purrs. Before it gets another word in, Batman is looking back at Scarecrow, his eyes locking with the glowing ice colored eyes, he waits a moment, hesitating, before answering  
“Bruce Wayne.”

Scarecrow questioned him for the first hour, doing some of the smaller questions even without the drug in effect.  
“Age?” Crane asks, scribbling down the answers he was given on a clipboard, next to the questions he was to ask.  
“32.” Bruce answers, anxiously waiting for the next dose of hallucinogens.  
“Marital status?” Crane smirks at the question, looking up, waiting.   
“Why does Joker even care?” Bruce mutters.  
“Don’t ask, some of the more, odd, questions still have yet to be answered.” He responded his eyes gazing over one such question. What kind of shampoo does the Bat use?   
Crane sighs, he’d never understand.

Another hour passes and more than half the list is filled out. Only a few questions are left.   
“This one, is,” Crane pauses, before reading it out word for word. “If the Bat were to pick, would he prefer to kiss Two-Face, fuck Penguin, or give Freeze a blowjob.” Bruce shudders.  
“Honestly, I’d rather kiss Joker, have sex with Ivy, and the blowjob, you, because at least you still look normal.” Crane raised an eyebrow, almost daring to test that theory. However, he instead wrote down the answer, before finishing up, with their last question.  
“This one he specifically wanted to be last.” Crane started, poking a finger at the words, he trailed over them, before saying them out loud.   
“Will the Bat come visit me?” Bruce looked up surprised. That was his most important question? Bruce thought for a full minute. Visit Joker? 

Joker had gotten used to the cold walls of Arkham, even more so with the clunky, rusting beds. He laid on the ground, his legs hidden neatly under the bed he was given. The room was small, and it luckily had one barred window to look outside. The sun that was shining through the window, cast down on Joker’s bare face. There was no makeup, no grin, all that there was are scars and a small content smile on his face.   
On any other day Joker would be plotting a way out, to be free once more; but today he was patiently waiting, knowing that only a few halls away, Jonathan Crane was questioning Batman, on his behalf. So, Joker waited, humming a tune that no one else could hear. One that suspiciously sounded like rain on kevlar. Soon it turned to a darker tale, one that in Joker’s mind, one could picture a battle, blade against armor, the sound of feet stamping the ground to find leverage.  
Joker filled his mind with the hum, his gaze was cast upon the blank ceiling, but his eyes moved, playing out the scene in his head against the white. His body instinctively twitching to defend himself, to kick, punch, bite, claw, and willingly take a beatdown. Only when the image of Batman’s gloved hand come up to grip around Joker’s neck, did his body go limp. He could feel the ghostly fingers curl around his throat, hard enough to bruise, but not strangle.   
It sent shivers up Joker’s spine and he sighed lazily. 

Soon. He told himself. That was one thing about his solitary confinement he loathed; a lack of physical contact. He wanted it. He craved for it. He needed it. He needed that feeling of involvement, the touch of a hand, the brushing of fingers, even a right hook was enough. And Batman gave him that sense of existing. It let Joker know he was still alive, that he was something. So, Joker returned the favor. Always getting the Bat involved in ways that saited Bat’s appetite of a Hero Complex.   
And it was that, that made Joker and Batman equals. And, no matter how many times Batsy refuses the idea, he knows it’s true. Because no matter how you look at it, Batman was just like the people he fought with. A masked identity, a few weapons, and a reason. Admittedly Batman has a “justified’ reason.   
Joker laughed. His laugh traveled to the two males standing at the door watching him silently. Because Joker hadn’t realized he was gripping his throat, his other hand tangled in his fading green locks, tightening before releasing rhythmically.   
It was when a familiar voice pierced his ears when his hands let go, before moving to push himself into a sitting position.  
“Joker.” Said person’s green eyes darted to the owner of the voice and there he was, suited up standing intimidatingly, as always, his blue orbs locked with Joker’s without fear.   
“Batsy, I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.” Joker mussed, before standing, the orange jumpsuit he was forced to wear clinging to his lanky frame. He’s small. Too small. Bruce made a mental note to ask Crane if Joker was eating. “Did you enjoy the surprise?” Joker asked, his eyes glancing to Jonathan who stood away from Batman, his eyes hard and his hand gripped around the clipboard. It was then Joker realized that the door was ajar.  
“It was more of an ambush than a surprise.” Bruce muttered, his voice more natural. Joker would know he is the moment he was handed the clipboard, as it’s the first question. Joker giggled at his response, his arm reaching out, making a slight grabbing movement, gesturing to the clipboard. Crane hands it to Joker, who snatches it, reading over a few questions.   
A dark laugh leaves his lips. “You’re joking right?” His voice is a growl, dark and threatening.   
And who could blame him, Bruce kept a secret from him, one that he asked repeatedly, one he’s wanted to know for over a year. And yet, Bruce said it willingly to Crane. 

How dare he! Joker thought, the words not able to leave his lips, as they seemed to be trapped in his throat. His eyes snapped to Bat’s, they were attacking, clawing, ripping; pure, raw rage. Yet, in Bruce’s there was nothing but guilt, guilt, and sincerity. Bruce had no fucking idea as to why he was feeling guilty.   
“You’re not joking.” Joker then muttered, after a few moments of analyzing Bruce. “Well, then my dear Bruise - Oh, don’t worry there’s no mic.” Joker reassured when Bruce’s glance left the green of Joker’s eyes, shifting to the camera monitoring the room. “I want to talk to you. In private.” He added his teeth clenched, eyes venturing over to Crane, desperately wanting to push him away. 

Crane understanding not to upset Joker, nodded quickly, readjusting his glasses, before walking away. Bruce watched him, feeling the heavy gaze from Joker, rest curiously and dangerously on his shoulders. And when Bruce turned to Joker, he was immediately stomped at, like he was a little kid who did wrong by their mother.   
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Joker questions, letting himself sit on the bed he was allowed by the doctors of Arkham. Though, he pushed away from the thin, moth-eaten blanket away from him, and onto the floor. Bruce furrowed his brow at the action, making the scowl on his mask more prominent.   
“I have multiple reasons not to tell you.” Bruce sounded out, his eyes turning from a low glare to that of conclusion. Joker's glance moved away from the blanket and to Bruce. He gave a small grunt, before laying down, his arm falling limply off the side. Staying silent, Joker pointed at the ground in front of the bed. Bruce sat still for a moment, before doing what Joker wanted, he sat down on the floor, crossing his legs as best as he could in the kevlar.   
Joker turned his head, his eyes deeply examining Bruce, before speaking.  
"I still want you to visit it me here." His voice came out low and as a whisper, as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.  
Bruce watched Joker, before responding.  
"Fine." His voice was completely his own, it wasn't deep, nor changed in any way.   
This difference caught Joker's attention. His eyes lit up and a large smile broke out on his face. A soft laugh escaped his lips.  
"Your voice is pretty." He muttered, his eyes becoming soft and closing slightly. Bruce was taken aback. Joker thinks his voice is pretty? Blue eyes met green and for one moment all lies, all other things disappeared, and the only things left were them.   
"Bruce." His voice called out, green locks falling across his face as he sits up. A pale hand supporting him while he sits on his side. "Do..." He pauses, wondering for a millisecond. "Can you take me away?"   
Confused Bruce tilts his cowled head, his brows furrowed, questioning.   
"I don't..... I don't like it here. At all." Joker's words speak volumes that nothing else could. The sound the made were more than a confession. It was a cry of plea. Bruce hated that Joker sounded so scared. 

It's Joker, he's not supposed to be scared of anything. 

"Let me talk to Crane, I'll work something out." Bruce told him, standing up, although his eyes never strayed away from Joker.   
As he walked towards the door, Joker made one last request.

"Promise me." He called out, his words shaky and upset; like a child who just lost their mother and never wanted to leave anyone's side again. 

"I promise." And with that, Bruce left the room, leaving Joker to lay waiting.


	3. Ace Of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited next chapter, which isn't as long as the others. I'm sorry.

That night, Bruce came home, the fear gas drug still in his system. Annoyingly, since when Bruce was caught by Crane he was on his normal watch, meaning he didn’t have the Tumbler on him at the time. And the walk from Arkham to Wayne manor, is a good 3 and a half hour walk.  
Bruce was bruised, exhausted and with the drug Crane gave him, he was too sluggish for his normal end-of-day routine.  
He was hopeful that Alfred wouldn’t notice, or that he’d see it was just the normal beat down.  
Bruce was wrong. 

“Master Bruce?” Alfred’s voice rang through the halls of Wayne manor. Bruce stopped in his tracks.  
“Shit... “ Turning on his heels Bruce gave a forced smile, his voice although exhausted, sounded innocent. “Morning Alfred.” He smiled, seeing as the sun had just barely started to rise.  
“Where have you been?” Alfred asked, his voice full of concern and his eyes traveling, inspecting the visible wounds along Bruce’s body.  
“On my rounds.” Bruce responded quickly, trying to get his worrying buttler from learning the truth.  
“Really? Then why, do you look like you were in a fight club with a bloody kangaroo?” Both upset and angry about the lie, Alfred crossed his arms, before giving out a long sigh. Using his head to gesture, he walked off towards the nearest bathroom. Bruce followed obediently, keeping his eyes lowered. Looking anywhere but at his caretaker, Bruce sat down on the toilet seat, as Alfred grabbed the first aid kit, off the top of the medicine cabinet, before opening it. As he pulled out anti-infections and bandages, Bruce was peeling off his Batsuit. Blood and sweat covered Bruce’s features and body. Groaning softly, his wounds were worse than Bruce originally thought.  
“Fuck...Fuck! Ow! Fucking hell Alfred!” Bruce hissed as his cut and bruised were taken care of.  
“You’d think that you’d be used to this by now.” Alfred retorted, although his touch became softer.  
“Yeah, well I don’t normally fall from a twelve foot drop now do I?” Bruce muttered, his voice full of venom for Scarecrow. Alfred paused, before giving out a sigh. 

After he was patched up Bruce went and got some much needed rest.

…..

It had been all but three weeks before Bruce went to visit for the first time. Most of the reason it took him so long was Alfred.  
At first Alfred loathed the idea of Bruce spending that much time with Joker. For the first two days Alfred tried to say as little as possible, unless it was an offset remark about how “bloody stupid” the idea is. 

At first Bruce knew every speck of the room, yet Joker proved him wrong. On his first visit, Joker pulled out a hidden deck of cards from under his mattress. 

“I figured we would need something to do.” Joker chuckled, placing the deck on top of a folding table that was set up for them. Two chairs sat on either side of the surface. Sitting in his own, Joker watch as Bruce took a chair for himself. Once both were sitting, the deck of cards was spread out.  
“Pick one.” Joker ordered. Hesitate Bruce watched the male, before he lifted his gloved hand, and hovered over the cards. “Don’t think about it, just chose.” Joker stated, bringing up a palm to rest his chin on. His green eyes never left Bruce’s hand as he made his choice.  
Lowering his hand, Bruce picked up a card, before flipping it over.  
“Ace of hearts.” Joker muttered, his face lit up with a smirk. After a moment of thought, Bruce asked what it meant. “Oh, tarot cards, so much time spent into learning the skill.” He chuckled, before continuing. “Well, the heart means emotion, feelings, relationships.” His smirk turned into a smile, yet, surprisingly it was calm, even friendly. “The ace, means, when added with the heart, new friendships, or romance.” A giggle left Joker’s unpainted lips, as his fingers drummed against the table.  
Bruce looked down at the card, his grip hardening for a moment, before he released the playing card.

**Author's Note:**

> "It's only a broken hand when you don't play." ~ J


End file.
